


Peter Parker and the Mark 420

by artoriusrex (jesusonaunicycle)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Marijuana, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Please Smoke Responsibly, Precious Peter Parker, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Teenage Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:19:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7976590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesusonaunicycle/pseuds/artoriusrex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“We—or, well, let’s just say <strong>I</strong>—cannot let an upstanding and intelligent kid like yourself fall prey to drugs. Or, well… not alone, at least,” Mr. Stark turned and smiled wolfishly at him. “So I’ve decided to get all those who partake to come crash your weed virginity party. You’re welcome!”</em>
</p><p>Peter Parker is just really curious, okay? Sue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peter Parker and the Mark 420

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I'm new here. And I've just created a monster and I'm so fucking sorry oh my god. Why did I post this as my introduction to this fandom
> 
> So, this is not the first time I've written these characters, but it is the first time I've posted anything, so if their voices are wonky (or wrong, or anything!) please let me know! I'm very open to critique and comments!!
> 
> Okay! **Warnings:** _smoking of marijuana, implied drug abuse and addiction, and blatant handwaving at Civil War_
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you guys like this disaster!

So, you know, he gets that it’s illegal. He gets that it’s probably bad for him. He _gets_ that. He just… was curious. Very curious. Curious enough to go out into the middle of the night and stand in a darkened alley waiting for some strange person to hand him a baggie full of _super_ potent weed.

Look, he knows he’s crazy. Aunt May was just out of the house for the night (going out with her friends from work, she said not to wait up for him with that oddly guilty look in her eyes and—you know what, he’s not going to think about that). He didn’t know how long he had to air out the apartment for the smell to dissipate. He didn’t even know exactly how to _smoke_ the weed. He was a disaster.

Still, he waited, paid the ludicrous amount of money for what was basically an illegal herb, and started to walk home with the baggie in his hoodie pocket.

“Just act natural, Pete,” he told himself under his breath, dodging streetlights. “It’s okay. You totally don’t have illegal herbs in your pocket. Totally. You’re just a regular guy,” he paused to duck into an alleyway by his apartment, already eyeing the leap up to the fire escape. “Yeah, just a regular guy about to take his own weed virginity, right, you’ve got this, you’ve got—”

A heavy thump sounded behind him, cutting off his own monologue by eliciting a godawful screech. Peter whirled around to see a hulking shape in the dark, with raggedy brown hair that almost touched his shoulders and a leather jacket and—oh.

“ _Sergeant Barnes,_ ” Peter whisper-yelled, because yikes, that screech had been loud but _still._ “You can’t just sneak up on me! What the fu— heck are you doing here?”

Sergeant Barnes only laughed, which Peter should really think about as progress, you know, him not being a crazy brainwashed assassin anymore. Or, at least, not _as_ crazy and brainwashed as he was. In the dim light Peter could see his smile glint. He really was cute, despite the hair. If you were interested in that, anyway.

“I could hear you freakin’ out from a block away, kid. I wanted to see what’s got you all riled up,” Sergeant Barnes said, eyeing Peter’s hoodie interestedly. “I guess I know now.”

Peter couldn’t help the strangled scream that rose (and thankfully stayed) in his throat. One of the most prominent people in American history just found out he was going to smoke weed for the first time. He was going to _die._

Barnes laughed again, delighted. “Kid, you don’t gotta be scared. There’re worse crimes than smokin’ a little reefer on a night off.”

“Reefer?” Peter parroted dumbly, then watched Sergeant Barnes’ exasperated eye roll and laughed, high-pitched and nervous. “ _Oh,_ weed. Yeah. Ha. The weed. The weed I just bought. The weed I just bought to—”

“Yeah, I get it, kid,” Sergeant Barnes huffed. They stared at each other for a bit, Sergeant Barnes with an amused and almost expectant look on his face and Peter, silent and mortified, by his fire escape. Then, “Are you gonna invite me up or not?” Barnes asked, and Peter scrambled.

“Uh, I mean, sure, but I was still planning to, uh, you know—”

“Yeah, kid, I know,” Barnes laughed, and Peter. Just. What?

“Huh?” Peter gasped out, and this time when Sergeant Barnes rolled his eyes, he dragged Peter up the fire escape after.

“We already know about the drugs, Pete,” he said, making Peter wince at the word _drugs_ and again internally scream because Sergeant Barnes said _we. Fuck,_ what if Captain America knew that he was going to smoke _weed?_

He must have said the last bit out loud, because Sergeant Barnes really laughed then, a big, belly-shaking one that shook Peter’s eardrums. “Jesus Christ, Steve’s gonna love this,” he muttered, right before climbing the last bit of stairs and throwing open the door to Peter’s apartment.

The first thing he noticed about his apartment was that the lights were on, which—weird, he turned them off. The second thing he noticed was that there was music playing—electronic music, music he didn’t really like but he knew was played at parties he sometimes heard of but never attended. The third—and most important—thing he noticed was that there were people in his apartment; specifically, four people. Four of the _Avengers_.

Ms. Natasha was sitting on the sofa in his living room, curled up like a cat and intently watching some cartoon that was playing on Aunt May’s TV. Next to her sat Clint (he couldn’t really bring himself to give him a title, he was just— _Clint_ ), fiddling with the remote absently while watching the cartoon. Tinkering with the stereo that Aunt May refused to get rid of stood Mr. Stark, pressed to perfection in a navy suit and his trademark pink sunglasses. And then, in the easy chair next to the sofa, sat Captain Rogers, blond and perfect and All American™ in a blue t-shirt and jeans with a smile on his face.

They all turned to look at him (save Clint, who was engrossed in the cartoon) when Sergeant Barnes pulled him in. Peter screamed in his throat again.

Mr. Stark was the first to react, as always, and grinned brightly at him. “Hey, Spidey! Who said you could get high without us?” he asked, and Peter opened his mouth to reply, but only a hiss of air came out.

“Don’t scare him, Tony,” Captain Rogers admonished lightly, but he was smiling. Captain Rogers was always nice to him now, since what happened the first time they met. Peter really didn’t mind—Captain Rogers was the sort of person whose attention he basked in.

“Yeah, Stark, don’t scare the Spider Kid.” Sergeant Barnes said, striding over to Captain Rogers and perching on the armrest of his chair. In the light, Peter could see that Barnes had tied his hair back up into a bun and had shaved since the last time Peter’d seen him. He looked well-rested. That trip to Wakanda must have done him some good.

Still, Peter bristled at the term Spider Kid—he was Spider _Man_ , thank you _very_ much—and was about to backtalk when Ms. Natasha stood with a smooth glide, green eyes sparkling and smile tiny as she approached him.

“Don’t mind James, _kotik_ , he’s grouchy in his old age,” she said, taking a very dazed Peter by the shoulders and steering him to the couch. Sergeant Barnes grumbled while eyeing them both venomously, merely proving Ms. Natasha’s point. Peter _loved_ Ms. Natasha.

As if sensing his thoughts, Tony scowled at Natasha as she settled smugly between Peter and Clint. “I hate you,” he said blithely, somehow still tinkering with the stereo as he glared at her, “you take all my favorites. Birdbrain likes you—” (Clint, Peter substituted)—“Inspector Gadget likes you—”(Peter looked over to see Sergeant Barnes’ exasperated eyeroll, and… huh, he’d never thought of that) “— _Spider Boy_ likes you. How does he like you more than me? I gave him a literal boatload of money! You’re a vulture.”

“It must be a spider thing, Stark,” Natasha said, grinning sharply. “I told you, you should change your name. _Iron Arachnid_ has a nice ring to it.”

Clint barked a laugh from where he was sitting. Peter looked over at him, but it seemed he was already re-engrossed in his cartoon, staring dazedly at the TV. Peter glanced at Natasha for clarification, but she only smiled mysteriously in response.

“ _O_ -kay,” Peter said in the sudden silence, “I feel like I’m missing something. So all of you have been tailing me? Because I’m about to smoke—uh…” he trailed off, unable to finish, especially when Ms. Natasha’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“We’ve been monitoring you since Germany, squirt,” Tony said, distracting himself with the tiny bits of stereo he’d accumulated. Peter absently wondered where the music was coming from if not from the stereo. “We—or, well, let’s just say _I_ —cannot let an upstanding and intelligent kid like yourself fall prey to drugs. Or, well… not alone, at least,” Mr. Stark turned and smiled wolfishly at him. “So I’ve decided to get all those who partake to come crash your weed virginity party. You’re welcome!”

_Oh my God._ “Oh my God.” Aunt May was going to kill him. “Aunt May is gonna _kill me!_ You have to go. _”_

“Nah,” Tony said, finally done with the stereo and striding across the room, the music significantly louder. “She won’t kill you. She won’t even know! You can’t kick us out now! I brought my own bowl!” He held up a blown glass bowl, with red and gold spun through it. “I call it the Mark 420.”

“You’re an idiot, Stark,” Sergeant Barnes barked, but he was laughing, so it didn’t count.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Peter muttered. Then he looked around and realized, loudly, “Hey! You guys are superheroes! You can’t smoke weed, what the fuck?” he shouted, and it was a testament to how startled he was that he didn’t correct his swear. Sergeant Barnes actually looked impressed.

“What exactly makes marijuana off-limits to superheroes?” Clint spoke up finally, his voice gravelly with sleep and disuse. Peter looked over at Clint and stared. The man looked world-weary, tired, and… and his eyes were already bloodshot. Holy _shit_.

“Clint Barton is high,” he said to no one in particular, which made Clint giggle uncharacteristically. Peter’s eyes widened. “Clint Barton is _high_ and _in my living room._ ”

“And soon we’ll all be,” Ms. Natasha murmured, smiling that tiny smile of hers. She ducked down to meet Peter’s gaze. “But only if you don’t mind. We’ll leave if it bothers you.” Mr. Stark looked like he was about to protest, but Ms. Natasha sent him a dark glare that immediately shut him up.

Aw, and now he felt bad, what the fuck? Peter fidgeted under the scrutiny. “I just… I just don’t understand what you’re all doing here.” He looked over at Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers, both of whom seemed mightily comfortable sharing the same chair. “You can’t seriously tell me that Captain America smokes weed on his spare time.”

Captain Rogers actually flushed a little at that, but his smile was loose as he replied, “Kid, I’ve been smoking stuff like this since before you were born.” Sergeant Barnes looked over at him, eyes laughing and wide, and Peter was ready to _pass out_.

“ _Really?_ ” Peter squeaked, which made Barnes start to laugh and Tony roll his eyes.

Captain Rogers grinned cockily at him. “Yeah. I had asthma, kid; the stuff they used to prescribe was hard shit. They tell me now it was made with nightshade—that stuff can cause _weird_ hallucinations,” he said conversationally.

Barnes wheezed, “Oh, Jesus, Steve, remember when you had a vision of Cary Grant standing in your room? You were gonna— _oof_!” Captain Rogers had elbowed Sergeant Barnes in the stomach. Peter was more than slightly relieved.

“Reefer wasn’t all that hard to come by either, if you knew where to look,” Captain Rogers continued demurely, as if he hadn’t just elbowed his friend to the point of gasping. “Me an’ Buck lived in that kinda neighborhood.”

“Oh,” Peter said, dazed, only for Tony to pipe up after Captain Rogers was through.

“Yeah, kid, everybody here has done way worse than weed. You know I partied with the best of ‘em. Cocaine, weed, you name it,” Mr. Stark said breezily; Peter knew that his coke-related rehab scandal was one of the biggest in the country. He just nodded when Stark was finished.

“What about you guys?” Peter asked Ms. Natasha and Clint, not expecting a response. But Clint looked over and grinned widely, saying, “My brother and I smoked off and on for a while; I stopped after getting into SHIELD at first, but,” he shrugged, “old habits can be hard to break.”

“It’s a good escape,” was all Ms. Natasha said when Peter turned to her, looking for normalcy. “It’s nice to let go sometimes.”

“This is so surreal. I can’t believe this is happening,” Peter muttered to himself, watching blankly as Natasha (who had somehow weaseled the baggie of super weed out of his hoodie pocket) packed the Mark 420.

 

Being high was… was. It _was_.

Tony had insisted that Peter take “greens,” so he got to take the first hit. Clint showed him how to hold the Mark 420 and Natasha held up the lighter (a lighter taken from Sergeant Barnes’ pocket with the Pisces zodiac sign on it) for him, so he wouldn’t burn his fingers. As soon as the fire touched the weed, the smell permeated the air—dark, damp and earthy, faintly sweet. The smoke tasted acrid and thick. Needless to say, Peter coughed the _fuck_ out of his lungs after his first hit.

Everyone laughed—including Captain Rogers, and he didn’t even bother to _pretend_ to be apologetic about it—but other than that it was just a game of pass-the-bowl. After Peter it was Sergeant Barnes, who took a monster hit, and then Captain Rogers, then Mr. Stark, then Ms. Natasha, and then Clint, who had already been buzzed before he arrived. Then it was back to Peter, and so the cycle went.

Soon, Peter was flying—his head was fuzzy, but he felt _good,_ relaxed in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He was grinning dopily at the ceiling for what felt like hours before Ms. Natasha patted his shoulder lightly.

Peter looked up dizzily to see Ms. Natasha’s smiling face, though otherwise she was composed. The only hint to her being zooted was the faint red lining her eyes. Peter’s grin intensified when he noticed. He giggled, “You’re _high,_ Ms. Natasha.”

A spluttering laugh was heard from… somewhere, but Ms. Natasha’s smile suddenly became a grin—blinding, white, and Peter had never seen this before, holy fuck. “Yeah, _kotik_ , I’m high. So are you,” she stated obviously, but Peter hadn’t actually _looked_ in a while.

Mr. Stark was sitting at the base of the TV stand, which had mysteriously gone off somewhere between Peter’s first hit and his second. The man’s suit had slowly started to come off—his blazer was missing and his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and his hands were no longer bare; thick cloth gloves covered them, with LED lights at the tips of the fingers. He was doing… something with his fingers, giving a light show. Clint was leaning forward, eyes wide and glassy, intently watching Mr. Stark’s hands.

Sergeant Barnes had somehow arranged himself to not just be perched on the armrest of the chair, but actually be snuggled up in the seat next to Captain America. His dark head was pressed into the crook of Captain Rogers’ neck and shoulder, metal arm thrown over the captain’s middle, leg strewn up over his lap possessively. For his part, though, Captain Rogers didn’t look at all alarmed; he was smiling loosely, the Mark 420 dangling from his fingers. Captain Rogers was looking at Sergeant Barnes like he’d hung the stars.

Ms. Natasha chuckled and said, “I told him to call James _zvezdochka;_ your observation is very accurate.”

Peter blinked. “I said that last thing out loud?” Ms. Natasha nodded kindly. Peter hummed, accepting this, and then asked, “What does zvez… zve…”

“ _Zvezdochka,”_ Ms. Natasha said patiently, “means little star. It’s an endearment, like “sweetheart” or “darling.””

“ _Zvezdochka._ ” He murmured to himself, trying it out. Then, his mind caught up to him and he exclaimed, sort of loudly, “Wait, does this mean that Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are _dating?”_

There was a muffled _thump_ as the Mark 420 fell from Captain Rogers’ fingers, and Clint protesting, “ _Aw, weed_!” Peter looked over to see Captain Rogers’ face slowly turning red, eyes wide, mouth agape. Sergeant Barnes snickered from where he was laying.

“What, kid, you didn’t _know?”_ Sergeant Barnes snorted, and then Captain Rogers was staring at him again, like he was the only thing that mattered, and what the _fuck_ why didn’t he realize this before?

“To be fair, Buck, it’s not like we’re out or anything,” Captain Rogers said levelly, though Peter could _tell_ he was trying not to laugh, the sneaky _bastard_. His eyes twinkled when he continued, “We did like to keep it a secret.”

Sergeant Barnes scoffed and rolled his eyes so hard Peter was kind of afraid they’d get stuck. “Oh, fuck off, Steve. You’ve been exclusively looking for me for _two years;_ you almost tore up the entire _Avengers_ for me. You love the shit out of me.” Sergeant Barnes said proudly, chin tilted up and eyes challenging. It totally did not warrant the sweet smile on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Yeah,” was all that Captain Rogers said, though, eyes soft as he just kept _looking_ at Sergeant Barnes, and oh _God_ that was so nice it was _sickening_.

“No!” Peter burst out, surprising everyone except Natasha. Clint actually fell off the couch. Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers looked at him in surprise as Peter shouted, “Absolutely not! You don’t get to be all… all gross at each other right now! I am _high._ There will be no old man humping on Aunt May’s furniture!”

The ensuing silence stretched for minutes, which felt like _hours._ Then, in front of Peter Parker’s very eyes, Sergeant Barnes started _cackling._ A full on witch-cackle, which set Mr. Stark off, who was practically choking on the fist he’d shoved in his mouth to keep from laughing. Next to him, Ms. Natasha started to shake silently, and when Peter turned to look at her, she’d clasped a hand over her mouth and her eyes were all squinty with mirth. Clint stared at him from the floor, struck and giggling. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Captain Rogers, who just sort of looked at him all dazed and happy.

“Steve,” Sergeant Barnes said through his cackles, “Stevie, doll, I like Parker. We should hang out with him more often.” Barnes actually _laid his head on Captain Rogers’ shoulder,_ grinning in a way Peter had never seen before. Captain Rogers looked positively lovestruck.

“Aw, shit, kid, you broke the dam,” Mr. Stark called from the floor. “You won’t be left alone now. Inspector Gadget will follow you everywhere!” His eyes were haunted as he continued, “They’ll think they can be cute and gay around you, too. I’d run while you still can. Or, wait—quick, insult him!”

“Shut up, Tony,” Captain Rogers said, exasperated but fond. “It’s not like you ever leave Peter alone either. The poor kid gets letters and presents from you every week.”

Mr. Stark fucking pouted. Who _were_ these people? “Yes, but he rarely sees my _face,”_ Mr. Stark pointed out huffily. He sniffed, “Besides, those don’t count. I’m reinforcing my investment.”

“You’re _spoiling_ him,” Captain Rogers said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “He won’t ever need to buy anything for himself!”

Mr. Stark scoffed, an epic scowl on his face. “How dare you. You’re just trying to get me to own up to liking the kid. I refuse. I am totally not invested in Parker. I think he’s brilliant and talented and he’ll go places, but that doesn’t mean I have a _paternal interest_ in him!”

Captain Rogers just leveled Mr. Stark with a Look, a Dad Look, the look that means “I Can See Through Your Bullshit, Stark.” Sergeant Barnes huffed a laugh into Captain Rogers’ shoulder. Mr. Stark’s scowl deepened and Peter kind of zoned out as he went on to explain how Not Invested in Peter he was.

“I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight,” Ms. Natasha said to him, voice low so that Mr. Stark couldn’t hear. Peter got an attack of giggles and leaned into the couch, warm with the smoke and good company.

“At least Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers aren’t being totally gross anymore. Not that being gay is gross, just, I get uncomfortable with any really cuddly affection, it’s weird, I never know what to do with it, even when it’s directed at me,” he said, his babbling significantly less… less. He liked it. He looked up to see Ms. Natasha smiling at him from where she was curled up.

“It takes some getting used to. You’ll learn, _kotik_.” Ms. Natasha’s smile was kind, and through Peter’s smoke-filled haze, he really didn’t notice that she didn’t specify what he’d get used to, exactly.

The night went on like that. Peter’s mind got hazier and hazier as the night went on to the point where he had to rest his eyes. And when he finally opened them, it was daylight.

Peter raised his head sluggishly to look around. He was in his room; plain old walls and plastic-y duvet, no sign of Avengers or weed paraphernalia in sight. The only evidence that the night before even happened was the thick aftertaste of smoke in his mouth.

After he got up and started moving around (of course, after he’d finished _freaking the fuck out_ because _holy fuck I smoked with the Avengers can I get arrested for that_ ) and brushed the taste of weed out of his mouth, he stumbled into the kitchen to soothe the angry rumblings of his stomach. He only truly became aware of his surroundings when he’d finished his third bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, in which he noted the stellar new stereo system that Mr. Stark had probably finished during the night, and a bright pink post-it note that was stuck to the kitchen table.

_Spidey,_ it started in a slanted, loopy hand; Peter had to snatch up the post-it and straighten out his glasses to be able to read it properly.

 

_Spidey,_

_I hope we didn’t impose too much on you last night. We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but it’s kinda a tradition to poke around in people’s houses after we’ve worked together a few times. You’re always welcome at the Tower. Oh, and Tony told us to invite you to air hockey night, it’s every Thursday._

_See ya kid._

_Steve & Bucky_

 

Peter stared at the post-it for a very, very long time, until the garish pinkness of it (seriously, he didn’t own any pink post-it notes, how did they get them?) bothered his eyes. Then, he carefully put his dishes in the sink, walked calmly back to his room—and screamed violently into the pillow because _fuck._

He was gonna have to go to air hockey night.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!
> 
> My tumblr is here: [x](http://capnsteeb.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, Natasha calls Peter kotik (kitten) because I'm like 99% sure that she'd call tiny MCU Peter all the adorable nicknames when she's not acting Too Badass


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